


Summer Boys

by Canon_Is_Relative



Series: Summer Boys [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Calvin finds that the course of true friendship never did run smoothly, and Sherlock offers fatherly counsel to a child not his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caprice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Merely Players](https://archiveofourown.org/works/386166) by [Canon_Is_Relative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative). 



> This is part 1 of 3 in the "Summer Boys" series, a side-arc that centres around Calvin and Skye, filling in gaps and missing scenes from the main "Winter's Child" plot arc. This precedes "Fatherly Wisdom" and directly follows "Merely Players," picking up after the argument the boys had when Calvin showed up at Skye's house in the middle of the night.
> 
> Many thanks are owed to ImpishTubist for the beta and for lovingly supplying Lestrade's texts in his conversation with Cal, and to thesmallhobbit, my favourite Brit-picker.

\---

27 August, 10:08AM  
 _Call from: Skye  
>ignore_

27 August, 10:09AM  
 _Call from: Skye  
>ignore_

27 August, 10:11AM  
 _Call from: Skye  
>ignore_

27 August, 10:12AM  
 _Call from: Skye  
>ignore_

27 August, 10:14AM  
 _Call from: Skye_

" _What,_ Skye? For fuck's sake!"

"Cal - listen, my parents - "

"Yeah, whatever, I _get_ it, ok? I'm busy. Goodbye."

\---

27 August, 10:14AM  
 **Status Update : Skye Vaughn**  
Hi everyone, I'm back in the world. Got grounded, parents went over the house with a metal detector, took all my devices. Sorry if you thought I was dead. 103 missed calls, 18 voicemails and 215 texts. Didn't realise I was so popular.

\---

_Texts from: Calvin H-W  
13 Missed Texts  
>Receive all_

 

_Sent: 23 August 9:16AM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_Mate, I'm sorry about last night._

 

_Sent: 23 August 11:10AM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_Anything on today?_

 

_Sent: 23 August 11:59AM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_Can we talk?_

 

_Sent: 23 August 12:32PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_Hey so I get that you're probably busy but seriously, call me when you can. I feel like shit about what I said to you yesterday. I'm a bastard for making you come out to me like that._

_You know you coulda told me sooner, but you didn't so I guess there's a reason and it sucks it all got fucked up like that._

_I get that I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes with your parents and everything._

 

_Sent: 23 August 12:34PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_So basically I'm a retard and I'm sorry._

 

_Sent: 23 August 1:59PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_Is your phone off or are you blocking me??_

 

_Sent: 23 August 7:25PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_You know what? Fuck you._

 

_Sent: 23 August 8:20PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_I can't believe I was so keen to get YOU to forgive ME._

 

_Sent: 23 August 8:25PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_It's good to know our friendship meant so much to you._

 

_Sent: 23 August 8:29PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_Are you sulking cos you thought once I heard you liked cock I'd drop to my knees for yours?_

 

_Sent: 23 August 9:02PM  
Received: 27 August 10:15AM_

_Fucking christ Skye would you answer me?!_

\---

27 August 11:20 AM  
 **Skye Vaughn**  
Messaging with _Calvin H-W_

 

**Got my phone back  
Got all your texts  
Lucky for me my parents don't know how to check my messages.**

_And?_

**And…I dunno. I'm un-grounded now. Obvs.**

_Congratulations._

**You know I should be royally ticked at you right now.**

_So why aren't you?_

**Not sure yet. I might be.**

_You are seriously the weirdest person I know._

**Probably. But I'm ok with it.**

_So what happened, why were you grounded?_

**You didn't guess?  
My parents heard us in my room that night.  
Not anything we said, I don't think. And they don't know it was you.  
They asked if it was but I wouldn't answer.  
They just knew I had a guy I my room. They were ready to send me off to prison.  
Or to get tested.  
Thank god I'm not a girl I think my mom would keep pregnancy tests stocked in bulk.**

_Shit, Skye.  
It's totally my fault  
I am such an asshole._

**No you're not, you didn't know  
Nice of you to say though.**

_You should have told them it was me. I could have backed up your story._

**Nah. They need to chill the fuck out. I told them that it was just a friend who needed me, but they were freaking out and wouldn't listen and when they started accusing me of whoring myself out under their roof I stopped answering them at all.  
They are insane.**

_Oh my god.  
Did they really say that_

**More or less.  
Well, less.  
But that's about what they meant.**

_You gotta get out of there Skye._

**Just two more weeks and I'll be back at school. I'll be fine.**

_I forgot they ship you off for school  
:(_

**Believe me, I love it. So much better than home.**

_The :( was me realizing you'll be miles away_

**Nice to know you still want to be friends after you accused me of hitting on you.**

_Oh come on I didn't mean that  
I was pissed off_

**It was a shitty thing to say**

_I know I was just trying to get you to answer me_

**If I'd gotten it when you sent it I wouldn't have answered and probably wouldn't have ever spoken to you again.**

_I'm sorry, Skye. Jesus what do you want me to do?_

**I want you to admit that you're an idiot.  
Especially after going on about how you have two dads so of course you understand.  
That's bullshit.  
You're normal, and you'll always fit in, and you can pin a million rainbow ribbons to your book bag or whatever but you'll never know what it feels like to live this way and to have to shrug off peoples ignorant assumptions like that.  
I expected more from you, even if you didn't mean it.**

 

 

_I'm an idiot. I'm sorry._

**Ok.**

 

**What are you doing this weekend?**

_Nothing._

**Me neither.**

_No wait I lied, I have this thing with my parents.  
Some concert or something._

**K. Well if you're not busy I'm not doing anything.**

\---

27 August 3:20PM  
 **Skye Vaughn**  
Messaging with _Calvin H-W_

_I just asked dad about the weekend._

**And?**

_You know who Sofia Steensen is right_

**The violinist?  
Your dad doesn't really know her, does he?  
He said he did but I thought he was having me on, there's no way, she's fucking world-famous.**

_Yeah, her. And if you hadn't noticed my dad's kind of world famous too. He does know her, apparently they both went to the same summer programme we just did, and she is playing in Nottingham this weekend. That's the thing we have tickets to and dad says you should come with us, we've got an extra one._

**No way.**

_Dad said you'd be up for it. I don't see what the big deal is but you guys are the string nuts.  
We can pick you up on the way up there and then we are going to stay overnight with some friend of papa's in Leicester. You're welcome, they say.  
Do you wanna? Or probably more importantly will your parents let you out of the house._

**Jesus. They will. They have to. This is unbelievable. You're not taking the piss are you?**

_No I'm not._

**Oh my god!!! Okay, I'll ask my parents!**

_Want me to have John call? He's good with parents._

**Actually, they really like Sherlock. I think they had some kind of parental heart-to-heart the night of our concert. I bet they'd say yes if he asked.**

_Um, ok. That's so weird, dad is SO awkward. But yeah, I'll tell him to ask._

**:)  
This is going to be amazing!**

_Yeah it'll be a laugh._

**Thank you. And thank your parents for me!**

_Gotta go but I'll have my people call your people and we'll make plans._

\---

30 August, 9:45PM  
 **Calvin**  
Messaging with _Uncle Greg_

 

**Are you awake?**

_Of course. What's up, sport? Concert over with?_

**Yeah, finally.  
But that's not the end of the torture apparently.  
God, I am so bored. Why did I agree to this? You should have come instead of Skye.**

_Come now. Skye's a much better companion than an old man._

**I thought he would be.  
Wait, that's not what I meant.**

_I know what you mean, kiddo. You're allowed to prefer the company of your friends.  
So what's wrong?_

**He's being a prat. And so's dad. And papa's boring, as always. This is stupid. What the hell is so great about horse hair scraping across metal strings anyways.**

_Dad showing off again, is he?_

**No. It's Skye. Dad's just egging him on. Seriously, this is ridiculous. I think dad invited Skye to show me up. Clearly he wishes I was more like him. And Skye's just loving it. He's such an idiot he's just glad to be out of his stupid parents' house and interacting with real gay people. What a twat.**

_Calvin Jack, I can't believe you just said that. You are your dad's whole world and you know it very well, young man. He's not showing you up. He's trying to share something he loves with you.  
And what's wrong with Skye interacting with people who understand what he's going through?_

**"whole world" my arse. That line got old sometime last year, uncle Greg**

_What's gotten into you?_

**I'm just pissed off. This is lame, and they're all acting like it's their first orgy or something. And I wish you were here because you're not lame.**

_Miss you too, kiddo. I'm sorry I haven't been around lately._

**Oh. That's not what I meant. You've been around.**  
 **I just wish things could go back to how they're supposed to be.**  
   
 _Which is?_  
   
 **You healthy. Dad only normal-crazy. Skye not being a tosser.**  
   
 _This thing with Skye is really bothering you._  
   
 **I just don't get it. He disappeared on me for a week and I thought he just decided he was done with me and I was SO bloody angry with him but then he turns up and just wants to pretend nothing's happened and won't even listen when I try to tell him anything and now he's jizzing his pants for this stupid violin lady and drooling all over dad. Bloody hell just kill me already.**  
   
 _What have you tried to tell him that he's not listening to?_  
   
 _Calvin?_  
   
 **We're finally back at papa's friend's house, I'm just going to go pass out. We'll be back tomorrow, are you coming for dinner?**  
   
 _Of course, kiddo. Miss you._  
 **  
You too. You really haven't been around at all, what's up with that?**  
   
 _I've had a lot going on. This whole "recovery" thing feels like a full-time job._  
   
 **Well it's a good thing you're retired then.**  
   
 _You're a riot, Sunshine._  
   
 **Love you.**

\---

7 September  
 **From:** Skyler Vaughn  
 **To:** John Watson, Sherlock Holmes  
 **Subject:** Thank you!!!

Dear Mr Watson and Mr Holmes,

Thank you AGAIN for taking me to the show. I can't even tell you how great it was. You two really are the best, I'll never be able to thank you properly. Hearing her play was enough but then getting to meet her was just amazing and then getting to play with both of you was unbelievable. She was so inspiring, you both were, I was playing for hours at home every day since I got back, and now I've just got back to school and I know I'm going to do even better in my lessons, I've got composition this year and I just feel so ready for it, and so excited. So, yeah, thank you a million times.

Sincerely,

Skye

\-----  
 **John**  
Messaging with _Sherlock_

**Did you get Skye's email?**

_I did. He sounded very enthusiastic. Have you answered?_

**He was enthusiastic about *you* love. You'd better answer it, sounds like he'd be thrilled to hear from you.**

_How did I end up acting in a parental role to a child not my own?_

**Just another facet of parenting, I guess.**

_It wouldn't be necessary if he had parents who were half as sensible to his merits and gifts as he deserves._

**Well, lucky he's got you, then.**

_Hm._

\---

8 September  
 **From:** Sherlock Holmes  
 **To:** Skyler Vaughn  
 **Subject:** Re: Thank you!!!

Skye,

You are very welcome. You are quite talented and I am pleased to hear that you were inspired by the concert and that you're continuing to dedicate yourself to your craft. Sofia told me that she was impressed by your skill and enjoyed meeting you.

I hope that school is going well for you. I know that Calvin misses seeing you. Perhaps we will see you again over the winter holidays.

SH

\-----

8 September 5:45PM  
 **Skye Vaughn**  
Messaging with _Calvin H-W_

 

**Dude, your dad just emailed me**

_That's weird_

**No, it was really…really…normal**

_That's even weirder  
What did he say_

**I wrote them both to thank them for the weekend  
And he said that Sofia said I was talented and she was glad to meet me  
And then that he hopes school is going well  
And that he thinks you miss me**

_Yeah. Weird._

**Heh. I guess.**

**How are things?**

_Fine, I guess.  
School's bullshit  
But that's normal  
How's school any cute first years_

**Ha ha, nope not yet**

_Lame  
I met someone last weekend who reminded me of you  
Maybe I could introduce you_

**That's weird  
But I'm fine, I don't even care I'm still high off last weekend**

_Yeah it was great_

**Are you ok you sound off**

_Just busy._

**Oh ok I'll let you be.**

\-----

8 September  
 **From:** Skyler Vaughn  
 **To:** Sherlock Holmes  
 **Subject:** Re: Thank you!!!

Dear Mr Holmes,

School is going well, I suppose. As well as it ever does. I have to spend too much time on things I don’t care about and never enough time on the interesting stuff. But I only have another year after this so I'm sure it will be fine.

Can I ask why you don't perform? I know you're really busy with more important things, saving people and stuff, but it seems like a waste that you're so good but no one ever gets to hear you.

I miss Cal too. Hope to see you all this winter. My family usually goes on skiing holiday though so I don't know how much time I'll be in London.

Thanks again.

Skye

\-----

9 September 8:00AM  
 **Sherlock**  
Messaging with _John_

 

**Are we free for dinner tomorrow night?**

_Depends. Who with? Greg, of course. Anyone else, rain check?_

**Skye's parents.**

_Any particular reason?_

**Not sure. Was hoping you'd have some idea.**

_Not a clue. Guess we'd better accept, eh?_

\---

9 September  
 **From:** Sherlock Holmes  
 **To:** Skyler Vaughn  
 **Subject:** Re: Thank you!!!  
 **Attachment:** caprice_bminor

Skye,

I'm attaching something that I wrote when I was your age. I haven't played it in 20 years and nobody has ever heard it performed. I think it would suit you well.

I don't perform for the simple reason that while I am very good, I was never the best, and never had the desire to devote the time needed to be become the best. Matters of science and investigation took all of my interest about the time my natural talent peaked, and I had to choose which pursuit I was to make my life's work. I don't regret it, but do appreciate opportunities to revisit the passion of my youth.

As to school and its inherent flaws, all I can advise is to look on it as a challenge. The only purpose to the school system that I can see is to weed the stubborn from the lazy, and to provide opportunities to those who want them. Although perhaps not always to those who deserve them. If you can make it through with your enthusiasm and curiosity intact, you will be in a good position to begin your life in earnest.

The best of luck to you, Skye, although from what I know of you I do not believe that you'll ever be reduced to depending on luck.

Ever,

SH  
  



	2. Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Calvin and Skye are reunited, and their friendship doesn't so much bloom as it does take off at a dead run. Caught up in one anthers' orbits, they draw ever closer over the course of one whirlwind summer. But without warning, Calvin finds himself thrown free of what feels like a collision course when he is privy to a fight between his dads that he was never meant to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 2 of 3 in the "Summer Boys" series, a side-arc that centres around Calvin and Skye, filling in gaps and missing scenes from the main "Winter's Child" plot arc. Chronologically, this takes place some time after "Fatherly Wisdom" and directly precedes/bumps into "On the Shores of Delos".
> 
> A million thanks to my beloved beta, ImpishTubist, for her support, advice and (approx.) ten million read-throughs, and to my invaluable Britpicker, Small_Hobbit, who first saw parts of this (approx.) a million years ago and has been ever so patient and helpful.

Skye was bored. 

He walked through the shop without looking at anything, eyes glued to his mobile, trying to beat his high score while nodding and _mm-hm_ ing as Will babbled his ear off about rubbish Skye didn't care about. 

It was July, and just looking at all the sports gear piled on the shelves and displays around them made him feel hot. And not in the good way - not in the way Will did. Used to do. 

He'd fallen hard and fast for the wiry hockey player the first time he saw him sprint onto the pitch at Wells. The first time they spoke, Skye thought that he might very well end up writing sonnets to the rolling waves of his voice, the way his sandy blonde hair tumbled into the deep blue oceans of his eyes.

"I'm just going to run down the aisle and look at boots, all right?"

"All right." 

Skye didn't look up until he felt a strong arm wrap around his waist and Will was pulling him close, looking down into his eyes. Skye blinked and forgot about his mobile for the moment. He still found himself startled by this - looking up at Will. He'd never looked _up_ at anyone before. He felt his heart start to beat a lively tempo in response to the brilliant grin Will turned on him, and kissed him back fiercely.

Just as quickly Will had let him go and was bounding away, and Skye wandered off down a different aisle in a bit of a daze.

He rounded the corner and came face to face with Calvin Holmes-Watson.

"Holy Christ." Calvin's mouth fell open. 

Skye felt his face crack into a grin at his estranged friend's exclamation. "All right?" he asked, a warm glow starting somewhere deep in his chest, his smile growing.

"All right?" Calvin echoed before laughing out loud and throwing his arms around Skye. " _Christ_ what are you doing here?" 

"Shopping," Skye laughed. "What are you?"

"I didn't know you were back in London!"

"Where else would I be, it's the holidays."

"Why didn't you call me?"

Skye shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. He'd thought about it, but hadn't made up his mind and here it was July already. He wasn't really sure when he and Calvin had stopped talking, but he thought it was probably about the time he started dating Will. Not that they'd been doing much in the way of talking before that. They'd pretended everything was all right, after that whole thing two summers ago, and there had been flashes of time when it was ok again - when he felt like they were the only two people in the world that mattered, and everything had made sense again. But they were few and far between, and became fewer once summer ended and there was more space between them. 

But now it was summer again, and here they were again.

Calvin shrugged too, reaching out to shake him gently. "Whatever, I didn't call you either."

Skye laughed and rolled his eyes, then cocked his head, reaching up without thought to run his hand through Calvin's messy almost-faux-hawk…thing. "I like you super-blonde," he said.

Calvin's ears flushed but he grinned. "Thanks. You wouldn't believe how long it took to get it like this."

"You look like an albino. What'd you use, a whole bottle of bleach?"

"Nah," Calvin shook his head, absently re-mussing his artfully disheveled bleached locks. The darker blonde roots could just be seen starting to grow in. "I was visiting Unc- oh, yeah, my godfather, remember, he was sick?" Skye blinked quickly and nodded. "Yeah, he had to go back in hospital for a few weeks and his roommate's daughter was visiting at the same time I was. She's a hairdresser and offered to do mine. And this happened."

"I like it," Skye echoed lamely, then shoved his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. "Is he ok, your uncle Greg?"

Calvin smiled tightly and nodded. "Yeah. Mostly."

"Good."

Calvin glanced around and was grinning when he looked back at Skye, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hey what are you doing tonight?"

"Er…"

"Cal?" A head, nearly as blonde as Calvin's, poked around the corner, closely followed by a slender female body. Skye felt himself tense instantly. "Cal how about this one?"

The girl stopped beside them, tugging on the hem of a tennis skirt that barely kissed the tops of her tanned thighs. 

Calvin sighed, barely glancing at her. "It's a skirt, they all look the same."

She sighed, and turned to look at Skye. "Who are you?"

"Er- "

"This is my friend Skye," Calvin spoke over him. The girl lifted an eyebrow at him, waiting, and Cal frowned back. "What?"

"Are you going to introduce me?"

"I just did?"

She sighed again and stuck out her hand. "And I'm Megan, his girlfriend."

"Oh." Skye pulled his hand back as soon as he could, stuffing both hands into his pockets, feeling suddenly on the defence. "Hi."

"Hi." Megan tugged on Calvin's hand. "I'm going to get the other skirt and the Technifire racquet. Let's go and pay, I'm hungry."

"You go," Calvin said, detaching her, "I'll meet you by the door. Do you wanna come eat with us?" he asked Skye.

Skye heard a familiar step behind him (God, he'd been so tuned in to Will back before they were doing anything more than flirting that he'd taught himself to recognize the boy's gait, his smell, his cough, his laugh) and turned to see Will strolling towards them, a shoebox under his arm, an easy smile on his face. He stopped beside Skye and slipped his arm around his waist, looking curiously at Calvin and Megan.

"Er," Skye felt himself turned red, felt Calvin's eyes fixed on him even though he couldn't look at his friend, "Will this is Calvin, my frie- "

"Oh! Right, the piano player, yeah?"

"Er, yeah," Calvin directed a puzzled look at Skye before shaking Will's hand, smiling genuinely enough. Skye felt himself blush. He hadn't realised that he'd spoken of Calvin to WIll.  "That's me, I guess. Hullo."

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Skye asked to fill what felt to him like an awkward gulf of silence that was probably only a handful of seconds between breaths.

"Yeah," Will held up the box. "They're beautiful." Will winked at Skye. "Skye thinks I came to town to visit him, actually I came to visit this shop."

"You play hockey?" Megan asked, looking at the box. Will nodded and Megan sighed, elbowing Cal. "That's cool. I can't even get this one into running shoes."

"Oh my god I know, Skye neither!" 

Skye and Calvin rolled their eyes at each other, cracking identical grins.

\---

"No, it was Meg's idea, she asked me out," Calvin said, passing the bottle back to Skye. He shrugged. "It's ok. It's nice that I always have someone to hang out with, and it's not a big deal."

They were on the roof of 221 Baker Street and it was well past midnight. They'd both shaken off their significant others somewhere between the shops and the fish and chips place where they sat on the kerb for hours talking about all the little nothings that had made up their lives since they were last together. By the time they got back to Baker Street both of Calvin's parents were in bed, and Cal had raided the liquor cabinet and led them up here. The warm summer night was thick with the noise of people too hot to go to sleep, a discontented drone that rose up from the streets below them like the pointless thrum of a trapped beetle's wings. 

"We don't…" Calvin continued shyly, looking sideways at Skye, and Skye let his eyes slip away as he tilted his head back to take a slow swig, the stolen whisky sliding across his tongue and burning his throat. 

Calvin licked his lips and continued. "Everyone thinks we're doing…you know…stuff. But we're not."

"Is that…good?" Skye passed the bottle. Calvin cradled it between his hands, not drinking. 

Calvin shrugged. "I don’t really want to."

"With her, or with anyone?"

"Her," Calvin said quickly, then frowned. "I think. I mean. Yeah." He looked over at Skye. "I guess…"

Skye flashed him a quick grin, then tipped his head back again to look up into the low-hanging clouds muffling the moon. "That's cool."

"Yeah, I guess. Is it…I mean…you and Will…?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it good? I mean…" Calvin took another drink and wiped his hand on the back of his mouth. When he spoke again his voice was steadier, no trace of embarrassment. "Was it special? Was he your first?"

Skye blinked and nodded. "Yeah, he was."

"Are you glad he was?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was he the right one?"

Skye snorted, reaching for the bottle. "What kind of fairytale shite are you on about, Calvin?"

Calvin shook his head. "I don't mean is he _the one._ I mean was he the right person for what he was? I'm still holding out. That's what I mean. I don't really care about Megan that way."

Skye blinked again, and put the bottle down without drinking. Something in Calvin's voice, in his certainty, his conviction, began to work open a hole in his chest that he'd been steadily ignoring for the past month. His eyes felt hot and his voice sounded thick. "No."

"No what?" Calvin shifted to look at him, sounding like he'd lost the thread of the conversation, and Skye realized he'd been silent for longer than he'd thought.

"No, he's not the right one."

"Oh. _Oh._ " Calvin licked his lips, looking like he was about to reach for him. "Skye, I'm sorry."

Skye shrugged, his neck and shoulders aching, his head feeling much too heavy. "Whatever."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

"That you don't want to be with him."

"Who says I don't?"

"C'mon Skye, don't do that. What's the point?"

Skye sighed and rubbed the ache between his eyes. "That's so shitty, though. Break up with him when he came down here to visit me?"

"Yeah and how's that work, by the way? Aren't you parents freaking?"

Skye shook his head. "He's staying with another friend from school. But actually…no…they've kind of chilled out. Mostly thanks to your dad, I think. They've met Will and are civil to him and everything."

"Wait - my dad?"

"Yeah. The one called Sherlock, you remember him?"

Cal punched him lightly and took the bottle back. "Why my dad, did he do something?"

Skye cocked his head, frowning across the short distance between them. The whisky was going quickly to his head and he fought to keep his voice steady. "You really don't pay any attention to them do you? Your parents and mine are, like, friends, now."

" _Friends?_ "

"Yeah. They hang out."

" _Hang out?_ "

Skye had to laugh at the look on Cal's face. "Adults can hang out too, you know."

Cal snorted. "That sounds boring. What th'hell d'they do?"

"I dunno. Whatever adults do. Talk about us, probably, what else would they have to say to each other."

Cal shook his head, then sighed and let his head drop onto Skye's shoulder. Skye stiffened in surprise, sitting very still. Cal didn't seem to notice his sudden discomfort. "Well, tha's weird. But I still think you should break up with Will if you don't like him."

Skye shrugged, dislodging Calvin's head with the motion and feeling unexpectedly dreary as the warm pressure lifted from his shoulder. He lifted the bottle to his lips, took a pull, and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Cal looked up at him, and the distance between them seemed to telescope in and out of focus. Skye lifted his face to the night sky instead, seeking out stars between the tatty scraps of cloud above London. 

"Maybe," Skye said finally, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Maybe I will."

Beside him, Calvin struggled to stand, leaning against the brick wall, their bodies pressed together from knee to shoulder as they gazed out across the skyline. Skye felt something between them brewing and stirring, pressure building up, pulling at him from somewhere behind his navel, his head swimming in a fog of blonde hair and warm skin and strong whisky.

Calvin broke the spell when he tipped his head back to loose a jaw-cracking yawn followed by a belch that seemed to reverberate off the rooftops around them. The two boys looked at each other before dissolving into a fit of giggles. 

"C'mon," Calvin said, tugging at Skye's elbow. "S'go t'bed. You better kip in my room 'stead uh the couch, Dad'll be pleased to see you but not if he smells booze on you in th'morning."

Skye accepted Cal's help stepping back in through the attic window, and did not let go of him as they crept down the stairs in the dark.

**\---**

" _And_ he's made first chair violin in his orchestra, which is apparently a _total_ honour, which obviously he deserves because he's kind of fu - of _bloody_ brilliant, but still, it's awesome. _And_ his quartet is touring Europe next year, and they're staying a week in Prague."

Uncle Greg looked up at him as he stopped to catch his breath, and Cal could tell by the slant of his eyebrows that he was amused and trying not to show it. Cal frowned slightly and tucked his arms around himself, asking, "What?"

Greg waved vaguely. "Nothing, nothing. Go on, so he's staying in Prague? That's exciting."

Cal narrowed his eyes. "You don't actually care."

Greg lifted his eyebrows, all wide-eyed indignation. "I certainly do care. I haven't seen you this excited in a long time."

Cal snorted. " _I'm_ not excited, it's not like _I'm_ the one who gets to do cool shi - stuff like go to Prague."

The table was groaning under the weight of the extravagant collection of delicacies that brought back Calvin's vague memories of the parties his dads' old landlady, Mrs Hudson, had used to throw. He felt a stab of sadness, as he always did when he thought about her. His memories were grey and blurry, but her kindness shone down through the years, never fading. As Dad breezed by, carrying yet another tray piled high with pastries, he said, "You could have just as many opportunities as Skye if you would apply yourself to your musical studies, Calvin."

Cal groaned and rolled his eyes. "Dad, for real? It's Uncle Greg's birthday I'm sure he doesn't want to spend it listening to you nag at me."

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, returning to the kitchen and shooing Toby out of it. Since Uncle Greg had recovered enough that the old dog could come home to him from his temporary stay at Sally's place, Toby had insisted on accompanying his master everywhere, even to Baker Street for their weekly Sunday night dinners and, now, to his birthday party. Calvin whistled and the Toby lumbered over to him, planting his chin on Calvin's knee and looking up at him in adoration. Cal grinned at him and scratched his ears and Toby's eyes rolled shut, tail thumping steadily against the rug, tongue lolling out in pure canine ecstasy.

Uncle Greg reached over to pat his old friend's head. "He seems happy to see you."

"Yeah he is, cos I'm awesome."

Uncle Greg laughed. "You are, yeah. And you seem happy, Cal. Really happy. And like I was going to say, I haven't seen you like this in awhile. The last time we talked about Skye was just before the two of you fell out, but things are better now, yeah?"

"Yeah." Cal leaned over to kiss Toby's head. "It's just like before, only better. Like no time has passed except we're both not such idiots as we were two years ago."

When he looked up, Greg was looking curiously at him. Cal frowned. "What?"

Greg opened his mouth to reply and was interrupted by Detective Inspector Donovan kicking open the door to the flat, laden with packages of strange and mysterious origin. Cal jumped up to help her when she appeared ready to overbalance. 

She smiled at him gratefully, saying, "The two top ones go to the kitchen, your dad's called me about five times already to ask when I'd be getting here."

As Calvin took the two parcels from her, he caught a glimpse of her classic eye roll aimed at Uncle Greg, and she didn't bother to lower her voice to add, "Freak's a bit tetchy today, innee?"

Calvin, who not-so-secretly agreed, rolled his own eyes and flashed her a grin, heading for the kitchen.

Lestrade's reply to his former sergeant was lost on Cal as he pushed his way into the kitchen and into the middle of a heated argument being conducted in furious whispers.

"… sake, John, he is _fine_ , he doesn't need your _mollycoddling -_ "

"Oh that's bloody rich, Sherlock, coming from - would you leave that _alone?_ I've got this under control, love."

"Don't _patronise_ me with your inane _nicknames_ , John, I am not a child - "

"Could have bloody fuck fooled me." John, still unaware of Calvin's presence, threw the dishtowel he was holding down into the sink with enough force to rattle the glasses stacked there.

Calvin had been standing stock still, frozen in place, the heavy packages making his arms ache, his eyes glued to his parents' backs. As the two of them turned to face each other, though, squaring off amid the stacks of dishes and ridiculous amount of food they'd amassed for the party - enough for fifty people, though by Cal's count they were only expecting fifteen - he shuffled his feet and coughed, finally making himself known as he set Sally's delivery down on the kitchen table. "These are from DI Doe," he said cheerfully, remembering how his childhood nickname for Sally Donovan used to make his parents laugh, before beating a hasty retreat.

By the time Uncle Greg's sister arrived with her two children, both several years older than Cal and infinitely cooler than he'd ever hope to be, Sherlock and John had both emerged from the kitchen and were behaving as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Sherlock suffered John to drape a flower wreath over his head, and actually got down on the floor to play trains with Mike Stamford's grandson. Calvin stuck close to Uncle Greg, and by the time they all went to bed - Greg in Cal's bed and Cal on a camp cot in the living room (Sally had claimed the sofa, and she _snored_ ) - he'd mostly forgotten about the incident in the kitchen.

\---

Another piece of potato went flying, and Cal's laugh rang, high and bright, through the house.

" _How_ do you not know how to use a knife?" Cal asked, reaching over to snag another carrot from the pile next to Skye's chopping board, snapping it in half and munching on it.

"How do you?" Skye grumbled, readjusting his grip.

"Easy," Cal shrugged, picking up his own knife and chopping the remainder of the carrot into perfectly even coins. "I've been helping dad with his experiments since I was a kid. Carrots are easy after fingers."

"Oh. My. _God_ you are _disgusting!_ "

Cal laughed again as Skye stared at him in  horror. Cal took full advantage of his shocked expression, shoving a piece of the carrot he'd just sliced into Skye's open mouth.

"You complete wanker," Skye snatched a chunk of potato off the counter and tried to return the favour, but Cal ducked under his arm, giggling.

Sherlock had been leaning against the doorframe, watching the two teens in their cooking experiment. They'd remained joyfully oblivious to his presence, allowing Sherlock to observe them, to save them - to write these moments to his hard drive, immersing himself in their interaction. He felt saturated. Bursting with new data. It was thrilling.

"Would you look at that…" John murmured. He'd been passing by the kitchen and stopped, backing up a few steps to stand beside Sherlock. "What are they doing?"

John's voice in his ear set his nerves jangling - it seemed lately that there was never a moment when John wasn't poking his nose into Sherlock's business. He hunched his shoulders, arms held close to his body. Softly, hoping to remain unobserved, he murmured, doing his best to keep his irritation in check, "They've decided to cook for us and it was meant to be a surprise. But it turns out that Skye doesn't know how to cook so Calvin is teaching him, rather ineffectually, and I think they've forgotten it was ever supposed to be a meal."

John lifted a hand to his mouth, eyes crinkling around the edges as he watched them.

_You're going to take your finger off if you hold the knife like that!_

_Well I'm sure you and your dad will put it to good use!_

Sherlock grinned, his annoyance at John for the interruption dissipating with the slow realization that John deserved to witness this as much as he did. He put his arm around John to pull him close enough to murmur into his ear, "There has not been more than three seconds of silence between them since Skye arrived. They speak over each other and repeat each others' jokes and on four separate occasions they've said the same thing at the same time. They have very similar thought processes, it would seem. Similar senses of humour. It's…"

"…remarkable," John finished his sentence with him. "This is…Calvin is…"

"Remarkable," Sherlock agreed. But there was more to John's thought than that, he realised. 

Two summers ago, and now this one, Sherlock had been the one to have the most contact with Cal and Skye when they were together. John hadn't often seen his son like this. Not that Cal was the quietest of children - with them, and Greg and Toby, he could be comfortable and lively. But at school, in public, and with the others of his friends that they had met, he was never the loudest in the room, never put himself at the forefront of the group the way Sherlock had seen him do with the other children in his summer music school. And now, here, alone, as he thought he was, with Skye, he might even have been called rambunctious. There was a freedom to his movements, his voice was unregulated. He was himself - a self that was independent of his fathers and his surroundings. A self that Sherlock had been watching develop before his eyes for the past quarter hour. A self that he and Skye were building and sharing between them.

"What do you mean, _What is rosemary? How_ do you call yourself a gay man?" Cal giggled as Skye swatted him upside the head.

"So I failed cookery, sodding sue me. But I will dress the shit out of your windows, just watch me."

"That was _not_ English, mate, I hate to tell you."

" _You_ are a royal pain in my arse, do you know that?"

Calvin bumped his shoulder against Skye's grinning. "I should hope so."

Skye gave a long-suffering sigh, cut off abruptly by the sound of his mobile playing a song Sherlock recognized from Calvin's rather odd collection of music, he believed it was called _Boys Who Wanna_. The tune must have been significant because both Cal and Skye went quiet. Cal's profile, when he turned to look at Skye, was sombre.

"He's still calling you, then?"

Skye nodded, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and reading something on the screen. "Texting, too. _Miss you_ , he says. _Call me please? We should hang out, I can come to London. Miss you all the time._ " Skye groaned and shoved the phone back in his pocket, hunching his shoulders.

Cal squeezed his arm. "You ok?"

Skye nodded.

John looked at Sherlock, questioning. Sherlock shrugged. This was a new development - he'd known that Skye was seeing someone, and he'd deduced that Calvin didn't like him. He hadn't heard that the relationship had ended. That Skye had ended it, evidently. Until this moment, Skye hadn't had the look of someone distressed by a recent break up.

John was frowning. "You don't think Cal and Skye are…?"

Sherlock tuned him out, straining to hear their now-hushed voices.

"You still think it was the right thing?" Cal was asking.

Skye nodded. "Yeah. Definitely. He…we…you know."

"Yeah, I know. I'm -"

" _Please_ don't say you're sorry," Skye rolled his eyes, looking down at Cal, giving him a small smile. "I'm so over it."

"Ok. Good." Cal gave a nod and smile and stepped away, back to the stove where something was bubbling away. "Good, because depressed people make lousy cooks."

Skye snorted and came to stand beside him.

"And anyway," Calvin said, "I wasn't going to say I was sorry, I was going to say that I'm glad you broke it off because his texts are bloody stupid. 'Miss you all the time,' honestly, who says that?"

Skye snorted again and scrolled through his phone, holding it up to show Calvin something on the screen. "Right. Good thing _you_ never send me anything stupid."

The back of Calvin's neck flushed and he said, his voice pitched just slightly higher that usual, "You can't blame me for that, I was - anyway you knew what I meant!" He swiped the phone from Skye to read the apparently embarrassing text message again. "You really have me in here as 'Calvin Holmes-Watson'? That's not really my name, you know."

"It's not?" Skye looked puzzled.

Cal shook his head, returning the phone to Skye and picking up a wooden spoon. "Nope. Well, not hyphenated at least." He waved the spoon expressively, giving an airy sigh. "It was this whole big thing."

"So are you a Holmes or a Watson, then?" 

Calvin didn't seem to notice the way that his friend was looking at him; that the answer to his question was of more import than just passing curiosity. Sherlock had observed the way Skye held their small family in near-reverence. It made sense, given the emotionally repressed nature of his own family and his parents' initial difficulty in accepting that Skye could be gay and still have a normal life; Sherlock believed that he, and John of course, had been instrumental in helping the Vaughns come to a more reasonable point of view.

"Both, kinda. Neither. I dunno." Cal said flippantly, turning to grin at Skye over his shoulder. "That whole adoption thing, s'a bit complicated."

"But what's your legal name? Why don't you have both?"

"I _do._ Just not hyphenated. And 'Holmes' is more like a second middle name. I don't know, my parents are idiots, ask them."

"Hm. Well. At least you don't have a stupid name like 'Vaughn.'"

"Yeah," Cal laughed. "'Calvin Vaughn'? That's just…gay."

" _You're_ just gay," Skye retorted, indignant.

"You wish." Cal nudged his friend. "Skyler Holmes-Vaughn-Watson. I'll bet you like the sound of that."

"Don't be stupid."

For the first time in an hour, there was silence that extended beyond the space of time it took to draw breath.

Sherlock looked at John, recalling his words from a moment ago. "Do I think that Cal and Skye are what?"

"Are…well…that Cal convinced Skye to break up with his boyfriend in order to…"

Sherlock shook his head, irritation returning in full. "Calvin is still dating Megan. They went out two nights ago, remember?"

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything and you know it, Sherlock." John sounded oddly concerned. Sherlock shot him a withering glare meant to _shut him up_ , and didn't spare a moment's thought for the look John gave him in return - full of surprise and hurt and confusion and _not what Sherlock was interested in right now._

Calvin handed Skye the spoon and told him to stir it for a minute, turning away to pick up the knife again. "Oh," he said a minute later. "I have something for you."

"Hm?" Skye glanced over his shoulder.

Cal was holding a carrot - an especially long, thick carrot - and smirking at Skye. "I know you don't miss _him_ , but, you know, just in case you were missing..."

Skye turned pink. "Youuuu utter -"

Skye swiped the carrot from his hand and bit into it, chewing noisily with his mouth open, arching a challenging brow at Calvin, who gave an exaggerated flinch, cupping his hands protectively over his crotch. "Well if that's how you do things that changes my next suggestion for what we do tonight!"

Skye laughed along with him, but to Sherlock's ears it sounded forced; nervous. Cal must have noticed too, and as he dumped the sliced vegetables into the stew pot, Sherlock watched his son try awkwardly to return to their earlier banter. Skye remained quiet. 

By the time the boys laid the cobbled-together feast on the dinner table with a flourish, they had both relaxed, and the meal passed in easy companionship. Between the two youngsters, at least; John kept looking oddly at Sherlock, as though he would have liked to say something he knew Sherlock wouldn't like to hear. Sherlock himself was quiet, wishing that Lestrade could have joined them; it seemed eminently unfair that he should have to miss a moment of his godson's life, especially moments of such great value.

\---

"I'm off!"

Cal's footsteps pounded across the living room toward the front door. John darted out from the kitchen where he'd been putting the shopping away, catching his son just as he pulled the door open.

"Cal, before you go -"

Cal heaved a sigh. " _What_ , I'm already late!"

"For what?"

"The bus, I'm going to miss it."

"There will be another. Where are you going?"

"Skye wants to take pictures off the Eye, he got this wicked camera for his birthday and he's working on putting photos to some of his poems..." Cal was slowly inching out the door. John folded his arms and arched an eyebrow, giving Calvin the _look_. Cal sighed heavily and came back inside, closing the door and glaring. "Ok, what."

"I like Skye, Calvin, I really do."

Cal snorted. "No, you don't."

"Yes, Cal, I do. Don't try to tell me what you've decided I think or don't think."

"Ok, fine, sorry. You like Skye, hooray, thanks for your approval. Can I go now?"

"Is anything going on between you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

Calvin snapped, his face turning red, "Yeah he's my best mate and we're shagging like bunnies. _Can I go now?_ "

Sherlock chose that moment to stick his head around the corner. " _What_ are you two talking about?"

"Sherlock, not now, please," John said tightly.

Sherlock huffed an impatient breath, but looking between the two of them must have decided he'd rather not have a part in whatever parenting fiasco John had gotten himself into this time and strode stiffly through the room, nudging Cal away from the door and slipping out. John and Calvin stood silently glaring at each other until they heard his steps retreat.

"I'm simply asking if there's more to your relationship than being best mates."

"Why do you care? You're so bloody _nosy -_ "

"I care because you're my son, and you're still very young and your business will be my business for a good several years, yet. All right?"

"Well, there's nothing going on. I'm allowed to have a gay friend without it _meaning_ anything, aren't I? You sound like _his_ parents."

"Believe it or not Calvin I am on your side. I want to see you happy and it's clear that Skye makes you happy - I've never _seen_ you so happy as when you're with him. And if there was something between you, I'd be thrilled for you. But I'd want to know - I'd _need_ to know, as your parent. I don't appreciate that you seen to think all I'm good for is spoiling your fun."

Cal's face was guarded. "Then why do you have your soldier-face on, if you really think something's on and you're prepared to be all thrilled for me?"

"Because you're still with Megan, unless something's changed since last Monday - "

Cal's expression turned murderous. "You - are you, did you just -" His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides as he spluttered. "Do you really think I - that I would - you… _asshole_."

The force of Calvin's sudden rage froze John in place and Cal was already down the stairs and out the door before John recovered himself to go after him. But by the time he gained the street, his son had disappeared.

Sherlock picked up on the second ring. "That didn't go very well, did it?"

"You were listening?"

"No, I was waiting for him to storm out. I didn't expect him to go sprinting down the street. What did you _say_ to him, John?"

"He thinks I accused him of cheating on Megan with Skye."

"Did you?"

"Not - well - yes, I guess I did, a bit. It wasn't meant to come out like that."

"Did he tell you where he's going?"

"Something about taking pictures on the Eye."

"With Skye?"

"Who else."

"Hm."

"Are you following him?"

"Of course."

"God, just don't let him see you, he'll never come home."

"I _am_ capable of following a sixteen-year-old boy, John."

\---

Calvin was quiet as they shuffled through the line and into the enormous pod. Skye had steadfastly refused to ever ride the Eye before this - he couldn't stand tourists and was horrified at the thought of ever being mistaken for one. But a few weeks ago while eating dinner with Calvin's family, John and Sherlock had told a story about a case they'd worked before Calvin was born that had involved cornering a terrorist with a bomb at the top of the ridiculous contraption, and ever since Skye had been keen to see it. The idea of taking pictures was more of a cover to disguise the embarrassing desire than anything.

"All right?" he asked as they leaned on the rail, pressing their faces against the glass as they started to rise.

Calvin shrugged. 

Skye watched him for a minute longer, then pulled out his camera, beginning to fiddle with the unfamiliar buttons.

"Meg and me split up. Yesterday."

"What? Get away, why didn't you tell me?"

"Telling you now, aren't I?"

"Sorry I didn't - shit, Calvin, I'm - I mean - are you all right?"

"Yeah, m'fine."

"How'd she take it?"

Calvin huffed a bitter laugh. "It was her idea."

"I - really?"

Calvin finally looked at him for the first time since he began talking. He looked weary, and said nothing.

Acting on sudden impulse, Skye put his arm around Calvin's shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, holding him for little more than a pair of heartbeats before letting him go, clearing his throat as he straightened. 

It was odd, this. Very surreal. Being suspended in a glass pod that had looked enormous when they stepped into it but now, now that they were locked inside it and moving slowly up and up, lifted into their air above their mad, sprawling city, now it began to shrink and Skye couldn't quite understand what all these other people were doing crowded in with them, surely this was supposed to be a space just for the two of them, just for him and Calvin.

"What's this one do?" Calvin asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the claustrophobia of Skye's thoughts. 

He looked down to see that Cal was pointing at a button on his new camera. "Er…that one's…oh, that's the distance setting. See?" He toggled the button and held the camera up so Calvin could see. He messed with the zoom and suddenly the view on the horizon, a mile away at least, came into sharp focus. Cal gave a low, impressed whistle. Skye grinned, turned on the portrait setting, and snapped a photo of Calvin before he could protest. 

"Oy," Cal grumbled, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, bringing it back to messy perfection. "We've gotta be careful."

"Sorry?"

"We have to be careful, around my parents. They're starting to act like your parents. At least, papa is."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I don't get it. He cornered me as I was leaving today and pretty much asked if we were shagging and called me a cheater."

" _What?_ "

"Right? I dunno what's got into the water but they've both gone mad. He basically said he thinks I'm cheating on Megan with you."

"That's mad."

"I know. And dad followed me here. He's in the pod behind us."

Skye felt a chill crawl down his spine, and couldn't help himself - he turned to look. The capsule behind them was filled with people, but he couldn't make out Sherlock Holmes among them. 

Calvin shook his head. "I'm afraid to tell them about Megan, now. That we split up, I mean. They'll just be more suspicious about us and watch us all the time. And they're being really weird already, they barely talk to each other, seems like any time they don't think I'm listening they're shouting." He sighed. "And it's only two more weeks til you go back to school and I want to have fun, not sneak around just to hang out with you."

Skye turned back to his camera, weighing his next words. His own parents never shouted at each other, just at him, so he didn't know what to say to _that_. But as to the other issue at hand… "You could always just tell them you're straight."

The silence between them felt suddenly heavy, laden with something Skye wasn't quite ready to prod at.

They'd reached the top of the arc before they spoke again. Cal shuffled his feet and said, "C'mere, then."

"Hey?" Skye looked up from his camera, startled out a spiral of self-reproach. 

"Get both of us," Calvin put his back to the glass and pulled Skye closer to stand side-by-side with him. 

Skye ducked down a bit - his friend had grown in the last year but Skye still had a few inches on him - bringing them cheek to cheek. From the corner of his eye he saw Calvin pull his shoulders back, standing a bit straighter, his face relaxing. Skye felt an unexpected tug in the centre of his chest. His lips quirked involuntarily and he lifted the camera, focused it, and snapped a picture of the two of them hovering in midair, neither flying nor falling.

\---

Calvin waited at the base of the stairs until the pod behind them was debarking. Sherlock must have realized his son had spotted him because he strode straight off without hesitation or embarrassment, stopping right in front of Calvin. He spared a quick nod for Skye but his focus was entirely on his son.

The two of them, father and son, so dissimilar and yet so eerily alike, stared each other down for a handful of seconds. Skye was trying his best not to look at either of them until the silence stretched on past the point of comfort and he darted a glance between them, then looked again. They didn't look angry, as Skye had thought they would have. They didn't look about to break out yelling at each other, as he and his parents would have been. They looked more like they were having some kind of silent conversation. The impression was further confirmed when Calvin suddenly sighed, his shoulders slumping. 

He glanced at Skye, who took the hint and waved at a cafe a few yards away, mumbling, "I'll be over there…"

Before he turned away, Skye saw Calvin step closer to Sherlock and accept his dad's arm around his shoulders without complaint. And as he began to walk away he heard Calvin say, "Why are you and papa such idiots all the time?"

He heard Sherlock's answering rumble, but couldn't make out his words.

\---

"The thing is," Calvin said abruptly, the first words either of them had spoken in ten minutes, "I'm not sure I am. "

They were standing in the bathroom at Skye's house, the photos Skye had taken that morning blooming to life before their eyes. Skye's head was haloed in red light, and Calvin kept his eyes fixed on the photo he'd just hung up - the snapshot of the two of them at the top of the Eye.

"Sorry," Skye said as he finished pinning it in place, "not sure you're what?"

"Straight."

Skye lifted his chin, but didn't turn immediately. "Oh?"

"That's why I can't just tell my parents that to get them off my back about you. It's more complicated  than that."

"I am?" Skye finally turned to him with a quizzical look.

"No, _I_ am."

"Hmph," Skye pouted, turning back to his work. "I'm used to thinking of myself as _very_ complicated."

Cal flicked a pin at him. "That doesn't mean you're deep or anything."

Sky aimed a smirk at him over his shoulder. "Oh I'm plenty _deep_."

"Oh for God's sake," Cal groaned, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bath. "Have you grown up at all since we met?"

Skye shrugged, wiping his hands on his jeans and surveying his work. Two strings of photos were suspended in midair, criss-crossing the small room. Cal had never watched anyone develop old-fashioned film photographs before, and he was torn between thinking it was cool and wondering if watching paint dry would be more exciting. As he watched Skye investigate the progress, running his long fingers over the edges of prints, leaning in to squint at something Cal couldn't see, he decided that he thought it was cool because Skye thought it was cool. He realised he was staring at Skye's hands and looked up to see his friend was watching him curiously.

"So's that why you weren't so keen on Megan?"

Cal shrugged, his face feeling warm, and repeated, "It's more complicated than that."

Skye blew out a long breath, then came to sit on the edge of the bath beside Cal, their shoulders bumping. After a few moments of silence broken only by their steady breathing and the _drip drip drip_ of the leaky tap, Sky said, "Once you…admit it. And start to be ok with it. Start _living_ it…it becomes a whole lot less complicated."

Cal huffed an almost-laugh and shook his head.

"I promise," Skye said, leaning briefly against him. "It gets better."

Cal turned to look at Skye, their noses barely an inch apart. "Skye, you know me. Do you think I'd have trouble 'admitting it' if I was sure?"

Skye frowned. "So…"

" _So_ , I just don't _know._ " He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, watching lights flare in the darkness behind his lids. "And it's driving me _mad._ "

Skye was quiet until Cal lets his hands drop into his lap. Then he took a deep breath and said, "You know, you're still a teenager. There's no rule says you have to have it all worked out by now."

"And what were you, thirteen?"

Skye nodded. "Yeah, but I'm weird."

Cal snorted and shoved his shoulder against him. "You are at that."

Skye flashed a grin, then sobered. "You know, you probably wouldn't even be thinking like this if it weren't for your dads. It seems to me, from people I've met and things I've read, that kids who grow up in," with exaggerated air-quotes, "'non-traditional' families question things more…are open to wider ideas of what might be right for them….you know, what your own 'normal' is. Does…does that make sense?"

Cal chewed his lip, picking at a jagged thumbnail. "S'pose so. Only except how it feels like I'm making up my normal, 'stead of discovering what it already is."

Skye leaned against him, grinning. "And if you can accept that as a concept, you've already passed Intro to Queer Studies **."**

Cal stared at him, nonplussed. "Huh?"

Skye started to laugh, head rolling back on his shoulders. "Oh, nothing. I'm just being a geeky Uni student over here, don't mind me."

Cal shook his head. "I never do. Weirdo."

When Skye only laughed harder, Cal nudged him again, harder, knocking him off the bath and onto the floor.

\---

Skye woke slowly. With foggy consciousness came the growing awareness that he was dreadfully uncomfortable, and he tried to shift, meeting resistance. He groaned softly and blinked his eyes open, the telly in front of him coming into focus first and putting images to the low babble of noise in his ears. _The Culture Show_ was on; _Never Mind the Buzzcocks,_ whichhe and Calvin were watching, must have ended hours ago. He was on the couch in his front parlour, and Calvin was asleep on his shoulder, his blondehair tickling Skye's cheek, one hand curled in the fabric of Skye's shirt over his heart.

For a moment like this, Skye thought, he could bear a bit of discomfort.

He stayed as still as he could, watching Calvin sleep, not trying to categorize, explain, or dismiss the feelings that were welling inside of him, and the unshakeable conviction that this was right.

\---

Skye's parents might have chilled out over the past few years, and Skye might have encouraged Cal to talk enthusiastically about his girlfriend in front of them, but still, it wouldn't have done for them to find Skye's best friend in his bed the next morning. So he kept Calvin locked in his room until they'd both left for the day. Cal lay there in the warm darkness, listening to Skye's voice rumble faintly up from downstairs as he made morning conversation with his parents, wrapped in the quilt from his bed that held Skye's scent and the residual commingled heat from their bodies, and started to wonder. 

When he'd woken in the middle of the night, the first thing he'd been aware of was the sound of Skye's heart, thundering away beneath Cal's ear. Then it was Skye's arm, wrapped snugly around him. Then it was the shallow rise and fall of Skye's chest, the soft ghost trails of Skye's breath across his cheek. And then it was the way every pore and hair on Cal's own skin, every rivulet of blood beneath and every muscle and bone beneath that, _every_ part of his body and being seemed to be attuned to Skye's - he was _longing_ for Skye. An ache like he was missing him across an impassable distance; a yearning that might have spanned more years than he'd yet spent on this earth.

It was Skye's poetry, he'd thought, blinking his eyes open slowly. Skye's poetical nonsense and the wine his parents' had let them have with dinner. That was all. 

As he'd stirred, Skye had too, both of them rousing slowing and blinking sleepily, not quite looking at each other. Skye had tugged on his hand, pulling him into his room without a word, locking the door behind them. Cal had followed him into bed, burrowing down into the pillows and blankets and pretending to fall asleep again right away.

He was startled out of the sense-memory of lips pressed to the back of his neck by a quick tap at the door. Breathless, he remembered where he was, nearly falling out of bed in his haste to tug his jeans on before unlocking and opening the door. 

\---

**Calvin**

Messaging with _Skye_

_You shoulda stayed for breakfast I had baked beans on last night's pizza_

**Haha you're disgusting**

_No I'm awesome_

**Yeah I guess you are a little. No more than me though.**

_No one's better than you_

**Oh shut up**

_I'm actually being serious. You're the best._

Cal was smooshed up between a beached whale of a pensioner who was taking up a seat and a half and a teenaged couple who were trying to compensate for his wide load by melding themselves together on one seat and being as noisy about it as possible. The whole train, in fact, or at least this carriage of it, seemed to have banded together to drive Calvin as mad as possible. And it was _hot_. And there had been delays. 

His stomach was in knots and he wasn't sure if it was the teenybopper's perfume, the thought of Skye's nauseating breakfast, or the thought of Skye himself. The thoughts of Skye that had seeped into his brain overnight. 

**Nah. You are. Seriously.**

Minutes passed. He reached his stop.

_:)_

**:)**

_Why didn't you stay?_

He got off the train, considering his answer, climbing to the street and walking slowly towards home.

**I dunno. Felt odd. Like something**

He stopped at the door to Baker Street, chewing his lip. As he juggled his phone to dig for his keys, he accidentally pressed _send._ Cursing, he followed up with,

**Sorry, didn't mean to send that. I don't know what I was going to say.**

_Felt like something was going to happen?_

Holding his breath, Calvin crept up the stairs, not sure what or who he was hiding from. There was a note tacked to the door of 221B, addressed to his dads in their landlady's neat handwriting. Curious, he pulled it off and read,

_Mr Holmes and Mr Watson,_

_Just a little reminder, rent was due last week and I'm still waiting on the electric bill from last month._

_Thank you,_

_Alice_

His heart sinking, imagining the row that was going to ensue between his dads when they found it, Calvin carefully replaced the note on the door. He rubbed his forehead, debating whether or not he even wanted to go inside, to be anywhere near this house and the inevitable shouting match over who was supposed to have paid her. But where else could he go? 

His phone went off and he jumped. Pulling it out of his pocket, he read Skye's message.

_Did you want something to happen?_

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, Calvin pushed open the door and scurried inside, once again feeling like he was running from something, hiding from someone. He leaned against the door and tried to steady his breath.

The flat was trashed. Books and papers and files were everywhere. His dad's work, without question. Probably looking for something that _Should be right here, John, what have you done with it?_ And from the looks of it, and the sounds coming from upstairs in the bedroom, the chaos was far from over.

Anger flashed, hot and startling, through Calvin's chest. He couldn't believe Sherlock, acting like this. No one else's dad behaved like an overgrown child, with no sense of the consequences of his actions or the effect his madness had on the rest of his family. 

Hot anger was replaced by cold shame when he realised the voice in his head was John's. Those were John's words, not his. They couldn't be. Wouldn't be - he wouldn't allow himself to think that way. He loved his dad - loved his madness, his genius;  loved to think, to hope secretly in the back of his brain, that maybe when he himself was an adult he'd be allowed make just such a mess and to be just as mad, just as brilliant, and to be loved in spite of it. But that was a fool's dream and he knew it. No one was supposed to behave like that, he knew it. That's why papa was always so hard on dad, why they were always fighting. They just didn't understand each other, and that was never going to change.

They loved each other fiercely, but how could it ever last?

How they'd managed to stay together for this long was an utter mystery to Calvin, but deep in his gut burned the awful, unrelenting conviction that they were on the brink of destruction.

He made straight for his room without taking off his shoes and lay down on his bed in the dark, the covers cool and holding no scent of Skye or promise of anything…else. More. Any kind of _something._

_Did you want something to happen?_

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the texts they'd sent each other since that morning. 

_No one's better than you_

**Oh shut up**

_I'm actually being serious. You're the best._

**Nah. You are. Seriously.**

_Felt like something was going to happen?_

_Did you want something to happen?_

It had been maybe five minutes, but it might as well have been five years. 

He wanted to send back, _No. Never. Absolutely not._

_Why not?_ He imagined Skye asking, hurt and confusion plain even in his texts.

_Because relationships always end._ Calvin felt like crying, and pulled out from under his pillow the tattered grey elephant, the gift from Mrs Hudson that had comforted him through the years, and hugged it to his chest. _Either you die or you get left. Everything ends._

\---

“Brainwork keep you busy this afternoon?” 

Cal blinked himself out of the stupor of self-pity that had kept him lying, numb and miserable, in his darkened bedroom since he arrived home over an hour ago. He  realised that he'd been hearing sounds outside his door for the last several minutes at least, but it was John's voice that penetrated his unhappy fog.

Sherlock didn't reply. Cal listened to John advance into the flat, voice sounding weary and disappointed.

“Alice says we’re behind on the rent. I thought you were going to pay her on Monday.”

“I expect I’ll be paid for the Mortimer case by the end of the week, once the paperwork clears.” Dad sounded dismissive. _Discussion over._

“Yes, but she was expecting the rent -”

“And she will _get the rent_ , John, when I bloody well feel like it,” Dad snapped, quick footsteps crossing the room. Calvin held his breath.  “Honestly, it’s hardly as though we’re going to skip out on it. _We_ were tenants here long before she came along, and we’ve never missed a payment. I _think_ she can live without it for a few days!”

“For the love of _God_ , Sherlock, what’s got into you?” 

Calvin had never heard John's voice sound like that before. As quietly as he could he slipped out of bed, pressing his ear to the door, trying to make out the rest of his words but Papa was speaking too softly. Dad's response, however, rang clearly enough to be heard at the end of Baker Street.

“Sod off, John!”

Calvin reeled back from the door as though struck.

“Fucking hell. You’re _using_ again, aren’t you?”

“Oh, don’t be absurd! I’m not -”

“You _are_. Oh, dear God.” Calvin felt as though shards of ice were sliding into his belly. He'd last heard Papa speak in that tone when Uncle Greg had been in hospital two years ago. He was blinking back tears as he reached for his mobile and his wallet, hands shaking, barely processing what was being said. “God - that’s why you won’t let me touch you... touch your arm. Fuck, Sherlock, what the _hell_ are you thinking?”

“John -”

The looks on their faces when he stormed out of his room and slammed the door behind him might have been comical, if this had been someone else's life; someone else's nightmare. 

He was almost past them when Papa asked, “Calvin, where are you -”

“Out,” was all he could manage through his clenched jaw, before he was down the stairs and out the door, pulling it shut with another unsatisfying bang.

He sprinted down the street, turning at the corner to look behind him. No one was following and he pushed aside his reaction before he could tell if it was relief or disappointment.

He pulled out his phone to look at the time and found Skye's last message still blazed across the screen, taunting him.

_Did you want something to happen?_

He wiped his nose, throat feeling too thick to swallow down all the rage and hurt and confusion he was feeling. This was all too much, it was all happening to fast. It felt like a year had passed since he was sitting in the living room with Uncle Greg while his parents were briefly occupied in the kitchen, shyly confessing that he couldn't stop wondering what it would be like to be with Skye 'like that.' His godfather hadn't looked at him, and for that Cal was grateful; it had allowed him to get the words out, awkward as they were. 

_It's hard to tell what I feel, if maybe I'm only wondering just cos I know he_ could _think of me like that, cos he's…y'know. Or if it's that I actually do want…or…I dunno. I just…I dunno._

Calvin's feet had decided where they were going without any direction from him, and the rhythm of the so-familiar walk to his godfather's home was soothing; comforting in nearly the same way that his voice had been.

Greg had patted his knee as Sherlock and John reemerged with the dinner dishes. _You'll figure it out, Cal. I'm not worried about you._

Calvin broke into a jog, feet pounding the pavement as he sprinted toward his godfather's home, movements becoming more desperate and frenzied with each moment that passed. And still, it wasn't fast enough. 

He'd figured it out, all right. 

_Did you want something to happen?_

_No. Never. Absolutely not._ _Because relationships always end._

_Everything ends._

  



	3. Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Calvin turns 18 and a midnight conversation with Skye and an unexpected run-in with someone from his uncle Greg's past spur Calvin toward the realisation that the worthwhile things are rarely easy to define but always worth chasing down and holding onto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the "Summer Boys" series, a side-arc that centres around Calvin and Skye, filling in gaps and missing scenes from the main "Winter's Child" plot arc. Chronologically, this installment takes place several months after "Points of Departure."
> 
> As ever, I would be lost without my betas. Worlds of thanks are due to ImpishTubist, my wonderful writing partner and friend, and to Small_Hobbit, britpicker, advisor, and quite possibly this series's number one cheerleader.

Calvin fiddles with the buttons on his phone, doing nothing, staring up at the ceiling that refuses - no matter how hard he stares, squints, glares - to change. Nothing's changing. There's no traffic in the street below to send startling patterns shifting across the dark walls, he can't even see the clock from where he's lying to watch the numbers shift, inching closer and closer to midnight, the anniversary of his birth sneaking up on him. Nothing's changing.

It's just that, everything feels like it's coming to an end. This is to be his last birthday in Baker Street. Their last Christmas has already come and gone. It's his last year at school; this time next year he'll be home from uni at their new place, wherever that ends up being, for the Christmas hols. 

He lifts his phone finally, the screen blazing forth the time - 12:02.

Hey wanker you better not be in bed like an old man it's practically a national holiday you know.

He types the message, staring at it for several moments, wondering if he could claim to be drunk if Skye doesn't think it's funny, then presses send.

Almost before his thumb lifts off the key, his phone buzzes an incoming text alert.

Was thinking about you and just realized what day it is.  
From: Skye.

Much too quick to be a reply; they must have been typing at the same time. Calvin's heart begins to knock painfully against his ribcage.

Another minute passes, then another buzz from Skye.

Ha! We're really something aren't we. Riding the same brainwave.

Calvin grins, and presses  Call.

Two rings. And then... “Hi.”

Calvin can hear the sleepy smile in that single syllable, and presses the phone tighter to his cheek, his free hand coming to rest on his belly as he echoes, “Hi.”

Skye chuckles, there's a rustle as though he's in bed, sitting up and pushing back the duvet. “You don't sound like you're out partying.”

Cal snorts. “I just stepped out to call you, the party's raging inside. But where are  you , huh? Y'know it's pretty much social suicide to get caught out not celebrating my birthday.”

“You are so full of it, Calvin.” Skye's voice is warm and happy and he sounds so  close it makes Cal ache. It's been two weeks since they last spoke.

Two strange weeks filled with half-typed texts and meaningless Facebook comments and cryptic away messages. But probably that was just on Calvin's side – Skye was just busy. He was always busy. It was the last week of school before the holiday and he was taking all advanced subjects, so of course he was busy. It's just that, two weeks ago Cal had told him that his dads were selling the place on Baker Street and they were going to move to the country with Uncle Greg. He'd told him that it felt halfway like they were preparing a really long funeral for Greg, like this was the first step towards him just keeling over, like they were all acting as though it were a given that he was going to cop it. And Skye had said, Well he is, isn't he? I mean, we all are, naturally, but he's sick and he's been sick for awhile. It sounds like a good thing for you all, to make him comfortable and happy and be together...

And Calvin had cut him off with a story about how he'd cut lesson last week to smoke at Pete's house when his parents were out and how they'd decided that the only thing for it was to have a band and go on tour, because otherwise their lives were practically already decided for them, their parents were going to live them for them. His voice had been high and manic as he bragged to Skye about how he'd nearly got off with Pete's sister's friend only he'd decided not to once he got a better look at her because she was wearing one of those bras that pushed her tits up almost to her neck and made her look so fake and Cal couldn't stand fake people especially fake girls. Skye said nothing through this recitation of Calvin's recent almost-conquests, and when Cal couldn't keep up the string of babbling nonsense anymore and fell silent, Skye had said Look, I've got a lesson to get to, I'll talk to you later, yeah? And Cal had agreed Yeah, later, and before he rang off Skye added, Later, as in sometime after you've chilled out and well before your uncle dies. All right? There's plenty of time to go around.

“You are so full of it, Calvin,” Skye says.

“Yeahhh, maybe I am,” Calvin drawls, rolling onto his side, arm around his pillow. “S'what you like about me though, innit.”

“One of the things. When you're not being a twat about it.”

“About what?”

“When you're taking yourself too seriously. You're lucky I know you better than to think you're the self-centred bastard you act sometimes.”

“Oy, now,” Cal sits up, injecting as much bluster into his voice as he can; this is beginning to feel too close to the turn their conversations always seem to take lately. “It's my birthday, I didn't call you to listen to you take the piss. You're supposed to be nice to me all day, even if you are a prick the other three-hundred-sixty-four.”

He's expecting Skye to sigh dramatically and tell him to shove off so they can get down to the business of swapping gossip and groaning over the latest indignities visited upon them by parents and teachers. Instead Skye is very quiet for the space of two long breaths, and then he sighs, not dramatically or impatiently at all, just a sort of soft, unconscious breath, almost sad sounding, and then he says, “What've you got on for your birthday, anything good?”

And once again he's far, far away.

Calvin squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to bang his head against the wall.  No, no no. This isn't how he and Skye are supposed to be. They're better than this. Above this. So much greater than this.

It's just that, Skye refuses to fit neatly into any box that Calvin is comfortable with. 'Best mate' seems so weak, when he sees how casually other kids throw that classification around. 'Brother' is stupid – if he knows one thing it's that family is what you make of it, or make into it, and Skye does not fit into his  family category in any way that 'brother' would imply. Which leaves...what. 'Boyfriend'? 'Lover'? He almost blushes just thinking the word  lover. Not that he'd not had opportunities, not that he couldn't have gotten rid of his virginity if he'd wanted to, but...he just...never had. Wanted to. Dad had caught him in a moment of weakness, a week or two back, and all his frustration and confusion on the subject had come tumbling out as Calvin sat on the floor with his back to the couch, Sherlock sitting quietly behind him. And when he'd run out of words, Calvin had ended up learning more about his dad, and his dads' relationship, than he'd ever fathomed was there. Sherlock Holmes, as it turns out, is a pretty interesting person. And an asexual one at that, which is cool. For a few days Cal had entertained the notion that maybe  he was asexual, too. That maybe  that  explained all the pain and confusion that was knocking about his brain as he tried to puzzle out just what he wanted from Skye. But it was all theoretical; all hypothetical.  Pathetical. He lacked hard data and that was, to borrow an overused phrase from his mad father,  infuriating.

“Calvin?” Skye. Still distant.  Infuriating.

“Why've you got to be so far away all the bloody time?” He says it in a rush, his words muffled against the pillow.

“Sorry?”

“I said -”

“No, I heard you.”

“Well?”

“Well what? What do you want me to say to that, Calvin?”

“I – fuck, I dunno. It's just – everything's just so -”

“-so bloody boring here without you. Stupid. Pointless. Yeah. Calvin. I know. Me too.”

Calvin strains to interpret the almost-silence on the other end of the line. Skye's voice had gone from light to guarded to exhausted over the course of thirty seconds and now he's breathing shallowly, rubbing the hair on the back of his neck, it sounds like, his nervous habit when he doesn't know what to say.

“Maybe...” Calvin trails off, coughs slightly and licks his lips before trying again. “Maybe we'd be better at all this if we weren't always so far apart.”

Skye huffs a short laugh. “Last summer we were together every day.”

“Yeah?”

“And we still made a mess of it.”

“That was -”

“Totally your fault, I know.”

“What? No it wasn't -”

“Oh come off it.”

“It wasn't! What the bloody hell did I do?”

“Oh,” Skye's laugh is bright and fake, “Where to  even begin.”

“You,” Cal swings his feet out of bed, they hit the thick rug with muffled, unsatisfying  thuds. He jabs a finger in the air in front of him, glaring. “ You did  exactly what I did to you that first summer. When you came out to me I assumed you were coming on to me and you almost never spoke to me after that! Do you know how  long I've spent kicking myself over that? And then when I tell you, 'oh, hey, I think I'm maybe not straight,' you turn around and go all Magic Nob on me like if I don't want you then oh don't worry I must be straight after all.”

“Oh for the love of...” Calvin hears Skye stand and begin to pace in his room. It sounds like he's kicking things and Cal feels a brief, painful flare of satisfaction that he's managed to get Skye, usually so placid on the surface, riled up. Then Skye asks, “Is that what you really think happened?”

Skye stops pacing, Cal stops breathing. The line is nearly silent. When Skye speaks, his voice is thick with urgency. “Calvin, I'm really asking, do you believe that's what happened?”

Calvin wants to say  Yes just to imagine the look of hurt and despair on Skye's face. But that anticipation sends something so shameful shocking through his nerves, down to his toes and back up to settle like a dead weight in his stomach, that he crumbles. He curls up on his bed, hugging his pillow once more.

“Calvin? Calvin, please...”

“No. No, no, no. I know it's not.”

“Why,” Skye's voice trembles, like he's on the verge either of tears or screaming anger, “do we always  do this, Calvin?”

“Cuz we're idiots.” Calvin says it without thinking and is rewarded with the sound of Skye's surprised laugh on the other end so he continues, “Well, I am, for sure, anyway. And you must be because you keep hanging around with me.”

“I can't bloody shake you,” Skye's laughter takes on a wobbly edge and Calvin thinks he hears him sniff into the back of his hand. “I probably shoulda, ages ago, but it's like you got under my skin and I couldn't ever get rid of you if I wanted.”

“Jesus,” Calvin mumbles, working the words past a traitorous lump in his throat, “I'd bloody well die if you ever did, Skye.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Another long pause. Calvin covers the mouthpiece on the phone to try and catch his breath, wondering if Skye's doing the same. “But that's what it feels like you're always doing, almost. Like every time we talk you're just working toward telling me that.”

“Skye, no, come on.” Calvin nearly chokes, tripping over his words. He takes a deep breath and tries to sound calm. “You're my best friend, Skye. Absolutely. There's just – there's no one...there just isn't anyone who's ever been...Fuck. Ok. I love you, all right? You mean more than anything and I never want to be rid of you. All right?”

“All right.”

Calvin laughs, surprised. “That's it then?”

“Sure.” There's a thump like Skye's just dropped down onto his bed and a long sigh.

“What,” Calvin clears his throat, his voice pitched lower when he speaks again, “so, we're ok?”

“We're always ok, Calvin.”

Skye sounds wrecked, completely exhausted. The unspoken desire that's been forefront in Calvin's mind since he picked up his phone spills into the space between them. “I need to see you.”

Skye laughs softly. “You have shit for timing, Calvin. I leave on tour in about eight hours.”

“What? No.”

“Hah. Yes, actually.”

“Well when are you back?”

“Not 'til next term, Calvin. You know that, I've told you about fifty times.”

Calvin stands, a wild impulse seizing control, and paces over to his desk, opening his computer and pulling up the timetables for the train that would take him to Skye.

“What time are you leaving?”

“Calvin...”

“I'm serious, what time?”

“We have to be on the bus by half nine. What mad thing are you planning, Calvin?”

Skye sounds nervous and excited and Calvin feels his face crack into a wide, mad grin.

\---

Cal kneels on the tatty doormat, cursing himself, trying to fit the skeleton key in the lock as silently as possible. He'd never be as good at this as his dad, and his dad wasn't particularly good at it. He shifts on his knees, biting his lip, and begins to pick the lock.

He needs to get to Skye, and for that he needs his wallet, and like an idiot he'd let his wallet here. God damn it all to hell.

They'd had his birthday dinner here, at his Godfather's house, earlier in the evening, because the next night - his  actual birthday, as he'd pointed out no less than four times over the course of the evening - was  less convenient for the adults present. Wankers.

He gives the lock pick an angry, vicious twist. It grates in the lock and he feels the door give. Jubilant, he reaches for the knob...

...only to feel it twist beneath his hand, the door pulled open in front of him. Off-balance, he looks up, expecting to see his godfather, catching him at picking the locks again.

He reels back to find Uncle - that is - Inspector...Liam...DI Dimmock looking down at him.

"What are you doing here?" Calvin blurts, reeling back.

Liam, for his part, looks just as taken aback as Calvin feels. "I thought - that is - Sherlock's always..."

Calvin draws himself up, crossing his arms over his chest. "You always hated my dad."

Liam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. But he doesn't have a quick retort, like he always used to, and once again Calvin feels himself crumbling. Scuffing his toe against the worn-out doormat, he mumbles, "M'sorry, I know you don't."

"No," Liam says, just as awkward as Calvin feels, "I never hated him, much as I wanted to."

There's a long beat of silence, and they both look up at the same moment, eyes meeting unintentionally. And then Uncle Liam's arms are around him and Cal's squeezing him tightly for a split second, just as long as either of them could ever bear, Cal's face pressed to his shoulder and breathing in the achingly familiar scent of his laundry soap. And then Liam's asking him what he's doing there, why the  hell  he's out picking locks in the middle of the night, and doesn't he have school tomorrow? And Calvin's once again on the defence, shoving his hands into his pockets and glaring up at this intruding adult from under a fall of too-long bleached hair, angry and resentful at having to fall back on this sullen trick just to get someone who's got no business with Cal's business off of his back.

"Liam," a soft voice interrupts their whispered row and they both fall silent, turning to see Greg shuffling out into the hallway, tying his dressing gown around him. "Give us a minute, yeah?"

From under down-drawn brows Calvin watches them. Uncle Greg in a dressing gown, Liam looking rumpled in vest and boxers. Calvin feels himself flush as he realizes what this looks like. He knows for a fact that Liam has a husband, these days, and it isn't Uncle Greg. He looks away when he sees Liam squeeze Uncle Greg's shoulder, give him one last, concerned look, and disappear back into the bedroom.

He looks up again at Uncle Greg's sigh, and watches his godfather move slowly over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and peering into its depths, asking Calvin if he'd like something to drink. Some of the debris from dinner is still on the counter and Calvin marches straight over and picks up a nearly-empty bottle of wine, pulling the cork and drinking straight out of it. At Greg's look Calvin wipes his lips on his wrist and says "I've been eighteen for a whole hour, I'm allowed."

Greg snorts. "I'm not an off-license, Cally." He pulls a carton of orange juice from the fridge and, following Cal's example, drinks straight from it.

Calvin can't help but crack a grin, and after a moment they both laugh.

"So what's he doing here, then?" Calvin asks, tilting his head towards the bedroom. "Seems a bit scandalous."

Greg sobers immediately. "He and Paul are moving to Thailand."

"To Thai - what - Paul?"

Greg finishes off the orange juice and moves to the sink, methodically rinsing out the empty carton, not looking at Calvin. "Liam's husband, Paul. His job is taking them to Thailand. Liam's just retired from the Yard, so he and the kids are going along. Paul's signed a five year contract."

"Oh." Calvin picks at the label on the wine bottle. "So?"

Greg laughs softly, the sound jangling in Cal's ears. "So. They don't know for sure that they'll make it back to England in those five years." Greg turns off the tap, the sudden silence ringing between them. "So he came to say goodbye."

And Calvin, watching him, finally catches up.  He came to say goodbye because he knows and I know that I won't be here when he gets back.

There's a heartbeat, two, three, of perfect stillness. And then Calvin turns away, forcing down a sob, nearly cracking his teeth as he clenches his jaw, going to stand in the middle of the room with his back to Greg, arms around himself, trying to hold it together.

Arms that used to be so strong, so steady, come around him, and the stubble of Uncle Greg's jaw rasps against his ear as Greg holds him. Both of them are trembling but neither makes a sound as Godfather and Godson hold each other.

It's just that Calvin feels like the last threads holding his childhood together are fraying, about to snap. It's been enough of a struggle, the news that his dad was retiring, that they were moving away from their home. That Uncle Greg is coming with them - the unspoken acknowledgment that Greg is mortal, and that his days are coming to a close. But now, now to see Greg's own distress  at saying goodbye to someone once so dear to him, to have an outsider entering into their world of preparing for his final days...

He doesn't know how long it is before Greg gives him a squeeze and then releases him, turning him around so they're face to face. "What is it you're doing here, then, eh? You're not gonna convince me this is how you'd planned to spend your eighteenth, breaking and entering an old man's home?"

Cal blinks and runs a hand over his face, trying to remember.

Skye.

"Oh, bollocks," he mutters, pulling out his phone to check the time, then looking around the flat until he spies his wallet on the floor by the telly. He stoops to grab it, looking pleadingly up at Greg. "I have to go, I'm sorry..."

Greg raises his eyebrows, folding his arms. "Where's the fire?"

Calvin lets out an impatient breath, looking away. "It's just - It's Skye."

Greg's face relaxes, and he reaches out to squeeze Cal's shoulder. "Isn't it always."

"Ha ha, yeah, you're funny," Calvin rolls his eyes, secretly enjoying the way that Greg just takes him, and Skye, in stride. Unlike dad, he never tries to deduce what's going on with them, and unlike papa he never freaks out about it. "It's just - I need to see him, and he's leaving in the morning for a tour with his orchestra, he won't be back 'til after next term. I have to go."

Greg lifts his eyebrows, checking his own watch, then frowning. Calvin holds his breath. But all Greg says is, "Will you make it to him in time?"

"Not if I don't get to Paddington by 1:43. I'm sorry, Uncle Greg, but I really,  really  have to go."

Greg's frown deepens. "1:43? The first departure isn't until half past five."

Cal's about to roll his eyes when a cold thought starts to niggle at the back of his brain and he says carefully, "Trains have been running overnight for three years. You remember, New Years Eve 2030, there was - "

"Oh. Of course." Greg passes his hand over his eyes, nodding briskly. "Yes, of course. This city is changing too quickly for an old man to keep up with."

Cal gives a weak smile and hopes that's all there is to his godfather's momentary lapse. 

Greg nods again, then reaches for Cal, one hand on each shoulder. "Text me when you get there?" Cal nods obediently. Greg pulls him in for a hug. Into Cal's hair, he mumbles, "You do what you have to do. Be safe. And Calvin..."

Cal pulls back to look at Greg, taking in the tired lines around his mouth, the red rimming his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Hold on to that boy, if that's what you want. Or anything that you really want. Never let go of the important things, all right?" The moment is heavy, something unspoken hanging between them that Cal doesn't know what to do with. Greg cracks a grin, shaking him lightly. "Promise an old man, eh?" Calvin swallows, then nods. Greg kisses his forehead then lets him go. "Off with you. The train won't be waiting, no matter how in love you are."

"Greg, I'm - we're not - "

"Liam?" Greg is calling, not listening, "Calvin's off. Come and say goodbye to him, yeah?"

The bedroom door squeaks open and Liam -  Uncle Liam, as he once was; the light of Greg's life, the one who taught Calvin how to ride a bicycle when the rest of them were off dealing with the mess that was the Melton case; the one who was there when Lilly Evans rejected him out of hand, making him the laughing stock of the year threes; who practiced goal after goal with him in the park when Calvin was sure he was going to be the next David Beckham and Sherlock, who hated sports, had nothing to say to him and John, who would have preferred he go out for rugby, didn't know how to help him with his footwork -  Uncle Liam steps out, looking slightly more respectable now jeans and a t-shirt.

“ Bye, then,” Liam says, as awkward as Calvin remembers him from the old days, never really sure where he fit into their family.

“ Bye,” Calvin manages, glancing at Uncle Greg for a clue.

Greg rolls his eyes and beckons Liam closer. “Cal's off to declare himself to the love of his life. Who,” he added, speaking over Calvin's protestations, “just happens to be his best mate.”

Calvin can feel that he's bright red, glaring at Uncle Greg. He wants to blurt out  He's not the 'love of my life,' that's stupid!  Almost as he wants to shout that ' Best mate' doesn't even begin to cover it, he is - we are - so much more!

And that's just the point, isn't it? Nothing's ever been black and white with them because...nothing is black and white. Ever. Anywhere. And...it didn't have to be, did it? Just look at his dad and papa. Look at Uncle Greg. Look at all of them. He of all people should have known from the outset that labels do not define the world. Labels, definitions, categories...they're convenient, sure. But, in the end, they're...not the end. Not knowing what to call something was not going to stop him from believing in it, and  wanting it, any longer.

"So where's this friend of yours, then?” Liam's asking, shaking his head at Greg. "What's the rush to get to him in the middle of the night?"

“ He's, uh,” Calvin blinks, looking up at Liam and trying to remember what was going on before he got lost in his own head. “He's leaving on tour with his choir in the morning. He won't be back 'til school's back in session and I'll be stuck here."

Liam cocks an eyebrow, and Calvin feels an odd twinge at that gesture, so long forgotten and yet so familiar. "Better get going then, hey?"

Calvin nods, reaching for the door. 

"Hey," Liam says softly, stepping after him, reaching for his arm. "Good luck, little one." 

And, just like the lift of his eyebrow and the smell of his clothes, the sound of that endearment -  little one, it had been Liam's and Cal's and theirs alone - sends Calvin back a decade and more and it's from far away that he realises Liam is once more embracing him, laughing softly at how he hadn't been  little in a long time, wishing him luck and happiness.

And then he's out the door, the cold winter air nipping at him through his jacket. He pulls his gloves from his pockets, stopping across the street to tug them on, looking back at Uncle Greg's flat. Warm light pools in the frosted window-panes, the curtains drawn back. Greg and Liam are watching him leave. He lifts his hand in a final wave and they do the same. And then he's off, other peoples' pasts, mistakes and heartaches behind him, his own beckoning him on toward the station.


End file.
